Page 10 of I’m The Worst

Fucking hell.

An extraction.

Me.

I’m a goddamn assassin, not some fucking hero.

I told Weston no the first time.

Twice, actually.

I don’t work this part of the world anymore. Haven’t for years. And I sure as shit don’t do rescue missions. But when a Sovereign Commander—the kind of man who can erase your entire existence with a phone call—offers something no one like me ever gets…

You listen.

The Sovereign. We’re the bloodiest, most secret assassin organization on the planet. We control politicians from the inside, rig proxy wars, treat human life as currency. We’re the knife in the dark that keeps the powerful in power.

The bastards who took his daughter don’t operate in places the Sovereign controls. He needed someone who knows the streets, the players, the rules. Someone who’s already bled here.

He needed me.

Savva’s boots crunch as he returns. “You’ll want this.” He holds out a small pair of bolt cutters.

I snatch them from his hand.

He glances down at her. “Want me to⁠—”

Reaching down, I grab her wrist, hauling her limp body toward me. The way she folds against my side sets my jaw even tighter.

“Easy,” Savva mutters.

The collar lock’s buried under a mess of tangled hair. I shove it aside, my fingers grazing the back of her neck. Her skin’s torn. Blood crusted into the links. Fresh streaks drip down her spine.

“She’s bleeding,” Savva mutters. “It’s the needles.”

My head snaps toward him.

“Inside the collar,” he explains. “Drugs keep most of the girls down, but the fighters need more. That’s Akim’s favorite method. Nice tight grip on the collar, the girls obey.”

With a grunt, I wedge the blade around the lock and twist hard. The metal crunches apart, and I rip the collar free, tossing it aside. Beneath it, her neck is a mess—raw, punctured, and bleeding.

The second the metal leaves her skin, she gasps like she’s been drowning. A fit of coughing racks her body, and her eyes snap open—wide and wild. Thrashing against me, her limbs flail as she tries to get her feet under her. She shoves off me, half standing, half stumbling.

“Where am I? What’s happening?” Her gaze frantically darts around the warehouse. When her eyes land on Savva, her whole body stiffens.

“No. Get away from me!” she screams, but it’s a choked sound.

She moves with a sudden burst of strength, losing her footing and hitting the concrete with a thud. Her back arches at the contact.

“Shit.” Savva takes a step forward.

I turn to him. “Leave.”

“Wolff, she’s going to crash, and we need to move.”

I glare in response before he mutters curses in Russian, walking away.

She pants, shallow and fast, words tumbling out. “Where— Where are we? What’s happening?”